Hot and Cold
by LapsusStili
Summary: Sequel to Blame the Deli. What happens when Grissom is feeling worse? GSR Response to Unbound Challenge.


Rating: T

Spoilers: None

Disclaimers: As with all my previous stories, I STILL don't own these characters or the whole CSI concept. I'd like to, don't get me wrong, but unfortunately it's just not meant to be. _Sigh..._

Author's Note: Written in response to the Unbound Challenge from 14 Nov 2005. I'm a little over the word limit again, but since I haven't posted in a few weeks I figure I can spare a few extras!

This is a sequel to **_"Blame the Deli"_**, so itwill make much more sense if you read the previous one first. Thanks to **Drakien** for suggesting I revisit this idea ... It's been a long time coming, and I hope I've done it justice!

* * *

**Hot and Cold**

_by Lapsus Stili_

**The heat was overwhelming. **Forty minutes ago he had been chilled to the bone, shivering and chattering away. At his soft moans, Sara had come into his bedroom from her perch on his couch and covered him with a duvet. At first Grissom welcomed the blanket, but now he cursed it as he found himself flushed with fever.

Groaning, he struggled with his aching limbs, attempting to divest himself of the cover. After several unsuccessful attempts, where he only managed to poke himself in the eye and get one foot inextricably twisted in the blanket, the ailing man gave up the battle. He collapsed back onto his pillow, resigned to roasting to death right there in his bed.

As his head lolled to the right, he saw a figure in the doorway. Despite the fact that one eye still squinted, stinging and watering in protest, it was clear that it was Sara.

_Damn, it wasn't just a horrible dream…_

It was bad enough that she had been present for his gas station interlude earlier, but when his cramps had returned after they got back to the lab, accompanied by severe nausea, she had insisted on driving him home. After helping him into his townhouse, she probably would have headed back to work if he hadn't hurled on her shoes in the hallway.

Things were a bit blurry after that, but there she was, in his room, walking barefoot across the carpet. Gently she settled on the edge of his bed. The cool cloth she used to wipe the sweat from his forehead felt like heaven, and Grissom's eyes fluttered shut.

In his delirium he mumbled, "What would I do without you, Honey?" as she set the cloth back in the bowl of water on the nightstand.

Luckily she was already sitting, or she'd have collapsed from the shock. For a second time tonight he left her speechless. Thrilled as she was to hear these admissions from him, a part of her was getting worried. Obviously for this normally stoic man to be spouting such words of affection, he must be seriously ill. Clearly this wasn't the work of a couple of shifty sandwiches, but more likely a nasty bout of a stomach flu.

One of Grissom's hands rested on his pillow. Sara couldn't stop herself from softly grasping it, and she frowned at how hot it was. Although she fully expected him to pull away from her grip, he did no such thing. More alarmingly, he didn't react at all. She placed the back of her free hand to his forehead and swore.

In a low voice she tried to rouse him as she grabbed the cloth again and returned it to his brow. "Griss, you're burning up. Do you think we should maybe take you to a clinic?" A shudder was her only reply.

To cool him, she ran the damp cloth along his face and neck, then across his bare chest. The chest that she herself had bared when she peeled his sweaty, and unfortunately spewed upon shirt from him a few hours ago. For his comfort, she had also removed his trousers and socks, but not his boxer briefs… she didn't know if he normally slept _au naturel_, but there was no way she was going there!

"Gil?" she tried again. Finally his blue eyes opened a crack and his slack fingers curled around hers where she still held his hand on the pillow. "No… s'ok…" was all he managed before another pain in his gut drew him into a ball, teetering away from her onto his side with a grunt.

Sara grabbed the pail she had placed next to the bed. This wasn't easy since her other hand was still tangled in his, now lost somewhere in the depths of his fetal-positioned body. He hadn't used the bucket yet, but since he had vomited twice since they got there, she had put it out just in case. It turned out he didn't need it afterall, which was good because there couldn't possibly be anything left in him to throw up. She dropped it back to the floor with a thud.

Grissom's shivering had returned again, despite the fact that he was still encased in the thick blanket. Since her kidnapped arm was already half-draped over him, she did the only thing she could. Pulling the rest of herself onto the mattress, Sara spooned against his back and held him close. He whimpered and gave her hand another squeeze before nodding off.

* * *

Blinking against the sunlight filtering in around the curtains, he tried to focus on his alarm clock - 6:18am. _Huh? What am I doing here when I should still be at work?_

Bits of the previous night flashed through his mind… feeling sick… gas station… feeling worse at the lab…_Oh ya._

Grissom mentally took note of his state. His head was achy, though he wasn't so nauseous. Overall he felt tired and crappy, but at least his temperature seemed to have stabilized. He was pleasantly warm, especially along his back and around his waist…

_What the…?_

Sensing his tension, Sara slowly withdrew her arm from his torso and rolled away onto her back. She'd been awake for a while, reveling in how nice it felt to wake up wrapped around him. Although she knew he'd be uncomfortable when he woke, she had stolen the moments while she could, knowing it might be her only chance to experience this closeness with him.

Grissom carefully turned over to face her. He then shocked the hell out of her when he inched closer and settled his head on her cotton t-shirt, between her shoulder and breast. With her left arm pinned between them, she brought her right hand up to stroke his neck tentatively.

Nestling slightly, he noticed that she was fully clothed except for her feet, and he winced remembering why they were bare.

"Sara… I'm… uh… sorry 'bout your shoes," he slurred. "I promise… I'll get you another pair."

She smiled broadly. _For this outcome, it was well worth it! _"Don't worry about it, Griss. They were due to be replaced anyhow."

"No, I insist. I'll… get you new ones," he ended on a huge yawn.

"It's fine Gil, really. Just don't throw up on anything else I own, ok?"

She tenderly pressed her lips to his curls as he drifted off again, then whispered, **"I'm not made of money."**


End file.
